notes from the stirrups

It's Brillig's and Butrfly's big gyno fest! And even though I'm kinda late for the party, I've got my own tales of terror with gyno visits gone wrong. So check mine out then head on over to their sites for more action.

I've discovered that lately I've been getting far more acquainted with specula than I ever wanted to be. Of course, I don't know that many women want to get intimate with stainless steel duck lips on a regular basis, but if they do I doubt that your friendly ob/gyn's office is the most, well, romantic of settings. Although I am grateful that they have added pillows to your standard exam table given that I spent two days in the doc's office last week.

I'm also sticking with my original position on male doctors, although I am amending it slightly. I have noticed that male doctors have a tendency to believe that they know our bodies better than we do. Now, I'm not saying that 8 years or so of medical school and residency and so forth is not enough time to get acquainted with female plumbing, but it does pale significantly when compared to actually possessing a uterus.

Take, for example, the past two weeks. I was definitely not feeling myself after the LEEP procedure. Naturally, I didn't expect to be feeling all that great, but there are certain health expectations one has following surgery. One is that you don't leak black death for over a week. The other is that, following the cessation of the black death, you aren't bleeding continually for a week and a half. Unfortunately, I had both of these symptoms.

Being a responsible patient, I called my doctor on the Monday following my surgery. He assured me everything was totally normal. The next Monday I had an appointment where my doctor actually got to see the carnage that was spewing from my body. After spending more time than usual in the stirrups, the good doc proclaimed that I probably had my period, thus explaining the bleeding. For good measure, however, he did add another coating of vaginal spackle just in case (there's an actual medical term for this stuff, but I can never remember and "spackle" is a far more accurate description of the stuff). After this, he unsnapped the speculum with a triumphant flourish and sent me on my way.

Here's where I went, "HUH?" See, if you're a woman, you know when you have your period. Everyone is different, but we all have these subtle little clues that let us know when our "monthly friend" has come to call. (I think of it more as an invasion, but there you go.) Since I had not suffered from my usual crippling cramps, acne explosion, manic-depressive mood swings or hormone-infused dreams, I had to question this diagnosis. My suspicion was further compounded when I passed out Wednesday morning and then started passing clots on Thursday.

I finally called a nurse in my family doctor's office who said, "No, that doesn't sound at all normal." She contacted my ob/gyn and got me in to see him again. This time he finally believed me and rushed me in to surgery to repair a tear that had occured. Turns out that I had been hemorrhaging for about a week and a half.

Period, my ass.

This is a rerun of a post that originally debuted here. For the whole story, click here, here, here, here and here.